written November 2010
Somewhere on a November day, a lawyer and a therapist spoke on the phone about the best interests of my son. I was not involved in that conversation but it affected me in every way.
There are people out there who know what my ex husband did, but remove themselves from thinking about it or reaching out to me because it didn’t directly affect them.
If it did affect them, they’d see that there was a person (a fellow human being – me) lying in an operating room being cut open and a child born, a seemingly loving husband nearby crying and videotaping our newborn while I lay a few feet away, unable to see but able to hear the cries of my newborn baby. I was shaking everywhere, teeth clattering so hard I had a splitting headache. But I felt loved.
I am a person, a mother, and I felt loved.
And him? He took a video with our new camera and pictures on his phone, and later, outside that hospital room, maybe even inside, he sent those pictures to a woman who’d been a secret part of my pregnancy, watching it like a vulture waiting to take my son from me and join him with her own kids and with my husband who seemed so loving to our nurses, doctors, and family.
I am a person whose son was cut out, and taken from me. Unknown to bystanders, I was a vessel for a baby that my husband hoped he would soon raise with someone else. I was a person whose husband took a picture of himself holding our newborn son and sent it to this other woman with the caption “we love you.”
Remembering myself with a tight, contracting, pregnant belly, my husband holding my hand tight as they stuck a needle up my back, I now know that kind of pain was nothing compared to the pain of learning the truth about my husband and learning that most people who know him are bystanders who don’t care.
There are people out there who accept him and look the other way because what he did – it didn’t directly affect them.